Working Late
by Simon Flower
Summary: Hermione delights in surprising her husband and at the office is no exception.


**Working Late**

Harry pulled his glasses off and tossed them on his desk. He rubbed his aching eyes with one hand while stretching upward with his other. The chair creaked as he leaned back.

He loved being an Auror but helping to run the department took much more paperwork than he'd expected. He missed everyone, especially his wife.

It had shocked most people – Harry and Hermione most of all – when three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, they'd fallen in love. Harry sometimes likened it to one day turning to your best friend and seeing a soulmate. Hermione always grinned and rewarded him when he waxed so poetic. They'd been even more surprised when Ron was happy for them – he was looking forward to exploiting being a single Auror, telling Harry he was growing up too fast. Harry usually smacked the back of Ron's head at that point in the conversation.

Harry leaned further back, both hands over his head, and tried not to think about Hermione too much. They'd only been married three months but Kingsley hadn't afforded Harry much in the way of a honeymoon, citing national security. Harry had threatened to hex him, to which Kingsley merely raised his eyebrows and amended Harry's honeymoon from one week to two.

Harry still hadn't had enough of Hermione yet. It was more than just the sex, though that was brilliant – he never before had thought of Hermione having a wild side – but being in love with his best friend. He could share nearly everything with her without fear, knowing they'd shared most of the experiences that gave him nightmares.

He grinned ruefully at himself, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Hermione said his sex drive was because he was only 21 and repressed most of his life. That wasn't helping him now, especially as he thought about Hermione's schoolgirl outfit last night. It had felt wrong but utterly brilliant as he played the part of dirty professor.

A brief knock sounded at the door. Harry abruptly brought his chair down on four legs, the landing hard enough to jar his teeth, and grabbed his wand. It was late enough that the only other person in the Ministry beyond janitorial staff should have been Kingsley himself.

The knock sounded again. Harry said nothing. The door crept open. He raised his wand to approximately head-height.

A sigh of relief escaped him when Hermione's bushy brown hair preceded the rest of her, though he didn't lower his wand. She was dressed in full robes that concealed everything but her hands and head.

"What did we do last night?" he asked after she closed the door.

A delicate blush stained her cheeks. "Professor Potter punished me for being late with an assignment."

He swallowed hard and lowered his wand. His arousal had returned in full force at the reminder of last night. He watched as she crossed the room to his desk. When she didn't take a seat opposite him but circled around to his side, he raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not that late, am I?" he asked.

"No," she said softly. "I just wanted to visit."

He licked his lips, knowing there was something more. Hermione rarely did anything so spontaneous for no reason. A half-dozen _reasons_ shot through his mind, each filthier than the next. As he shifted in his chair to ease the ache in his groin, he berated himself for the direction of his thoughts. He tried to remind himself that, unlike him, Hermione didn't have sex on her mind for most of her waking hours.

"Should I go home, then?" he asked, pleased his voice sounded even.

She swept her eyes downward almost demurely. "No, not yet."

She pushed herself off the edge of the desk, putting several inches of space between her and it. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing but the words died in his throat when she undid the clasp of her robes. They fell to the floor with a soft _swish_ of sound, leaving her in a red lace bra and thong.

He barely registered that his jaw had dropped open until he tried to swallow.

"Hermione?" His voice squeaked, which would embarrass him when he thought about it later but didn't matter much now.

She leaned down, bracing her hands against the back of his chair on either side of his head. He fought to keep his eyes on hers and not her breasts.

"I have another fantasy," she murmured. An erotic smile on her lips, she straddled his lap. His cock strained against the trousers he wore under his robes.

He swallowed nervously, licked his lips then took a shuddering breath. "Fantasy?"

"Mmm hmm." She bent forward, enveloping him in her hair and that faintly vanilla and jasmine scent he always associated with her.

"What – " His voice cracked again. Clearing his throat, he tried once more. "What fantasy?"

She brushed her lips along his cheek to his ear to say in a breathy whisper, "Sex in your office right on your desk."

For years afterward when Hermione asked him about it, he would swear his brain ground to a halt and broke at her words. Indeed, what he felt was arousal flood him and a complete cessation of thought.

He felt her smile against his cheek. She wiggled slightly, settling herself more tightly against his groin.

"I think you like the idea," she murmured. Her fingers nimbly unfastened his robes to his waist.

When she started on his shirt, he regained his voice. Grabbing her hands, he growled, "You can tell I like the idea by the way you're rubbing against my cock."

"Is that what I'm doing?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"You know you are, witch," he answered.

"Mmm, so sorry," she said, the mischievous note in her voice belying the apologetic words.

In response, he grabbed her hands and pinned them behind her back. Shifting his grip to hold them with one hand, he slid his now-free hand into her hair. Tangling his fingers in the strands, he held her head still to fasten his mouth upon hers. He drove his tongue into her mouth with deliberate savagery, matching the rhythm to her writhing in his lap.

Triumph surged through him when she moaned. She usually held the upper hand when they were together – and he was happy to cede it to her – but the need to control her at that moment overrode his astonishment at her fantasy. She had entered _his_ domain and he was going to dominate.

He bit back a groan at the thought of dominating Hermione. That was a fantasy of his he hadn't shared just yet, thinking it would revolt her. He reconsidered that assumption as he smelled the musk of her arousal at his high-handed treatment of her. It occurred to him that maybe since she was always in control, she might want to give it up sometimes, much like him.

He nipped her lower lip and she arched against him.

Breaking the kiss, he pulled her head back. "On my desk?"

She opened her eyes slowly. He was pleased to note the dazed expression in them. Meeting his gaze, she smiled. "Yes, your desk."

He glanced to his right, making a show of studying his desk. To be honest, her fantasy was one he'd already contemplated but dismissed as something she'd never agree to. He'd obviously underestimated his wife.

She shifted restlessly against him, biting her lower lip as she brushed his erection again.

He grabbed at his wand, missing the first time but finding the holly wood the second time, and used it to clear a path through the center of his desktop. His paperwork slid to one side as his files and quills slid to the other.

Rising from the chair, he gripped her hips tightly to hold her against him. She locked her legs around his waist. For a moment, he reveled in the sensation at the same time he had to resist the urge to turn left, shove her against the wall and fuck her there. She tipped her head back, exposing the cords of her neck, the long fall of her hair brushing the desktop.

Lust surged through him. He loved feasting on her neck and she knew it.

he set her on the desktop then bent to suck at the hollow of her throat. The whimper that escaped her set fire to his blood. Releasing her waist, he frantically undid his trousers before completing the unbuttoning of his shirt. She stilled his hands when he raised them to shrug out of his shirt and robes.

"Leave them on," she said, voice dark with arousal.

His responding grin matched her tone of voice. "Should I take my trousers off?" he murmured.

She was temporarily distracted when he unfastened her bra. He loved her breasts, loved suckling on them, loved the sight and feel of them. He slid his tongue from her collarbone down to her right breast, enveloping the nipple in his mouth, using his tongue to toy it to hardness.

Almost involuntarily, her hands rose to tangle in his hair, pinning his head to her chest. If he were able, he would have smiled. Instead, he suckled her with a hard tug, sending a shudder through her. When he did it again, her grip loosened, allowing him to lift his head.

"Should I take my trousers off?" he repeated, tormenting her further when he dragged his stubbled chin over her hardened nipples.

She blinked several times. He could see the slight confusion and distraction of her arousal in her eyes.

"Just lower them," she finally answered, moaning when he grinned.

Rather than taking the time to lift her off the desk and remove her knickers, he gave them a sharp tug. The delicate lace disintegrated and fell to the desktop in tatters. She moaned in disappointment as he took a step back, but choked off the noise as he settled into his chair.

He first leaned back far enough for her to watch him pull his cock from his boxers, stroking it lightly. The smile that slowly spread on her face was one of feminine power, telling him she was nearly as aroused by watching him stroke himself as he was by doing so.

He leaned forward, kissing his way upward from her knees, alternating sides at random. Her arms trembled when she threw her head back, a whimper soft on her lips. She tightened her fingers on the edge of the desk when he moved his mouth higher.

"Please," she whispered faintly.

He thought about teasing her further to torment her, but she must have been more aroused than he realized when she entered his office because she was on edge now. Despite that, he couldn't resist drawing things out: he lifted her legs onto his shoulders.

"Harry," she said, voice caught between a demand and a plea.

With a soft laugh, he slid his mouth over her pussy. When his tongue slid inside her, her arms shook and a quivering moan escaped her. Though Hermione enjoyed giving him a blow job, she never seemed to understand how much he enjoyed tasting her.

The taste of her when she was aroused like this was always a surefire way to stoke his desire. It reached deep inside him; it allowed something primal to claw its way out. He'd once tried to explain it, how driving his tongue into her, coating his lips and chin in her, was something he _enjoyed_ doing, but where she could describe in dirty detail the finer points of fellatio, talking about cunnilingus embarrassed her beyond words.

He mentally shrugged and slipped his hands higher, resting one on her belly with his thumb against her clit and the other high on her inner thigh. Her arms trembled again as he stroked her clit, collapsing under her until she lay flat on his desk.

Though he didn't remove his hands, he pulled his head back. She levered her upper body up on her elbows, glaring at him.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked, deliberately licking his lips.

"Yes," she hissed, trembling slightly.

"Then tell me." She glared more fiercely this time. A smile spread slowly across his face. He moved his left hand from her thigh to his cock and began stroking himself. "The taste of you makes me so hard. I can feel how wet you are and imagine driving into you, covering my cock in your wetness as you tremble."

She bit her lip hard enough that he was surprised it didn't bleed.

"I would slide my tongue here – " he swept his thumb from her opening to her clit " – knowing we both wished it was my cock." His body was urging him to stroke his cock faster, but he kept his pace slow.

Her head fell back again with a whimper.

Shifting his hand, he eased two fingers inside her, thumb still manipulating her clit.

"You didn't lock the door," he murmured, bending his head down. With every kiss to her thigh, she trembled even more. "Did you _want_ someone to walk in and see you sprawled on my desk?"

She keened hungrily but still wouldn't say what he wanted to hear.

"Are you imagining someone walking in and finding you?" He bit back a groan as she tightened around his fingers. "Are you Imagining someone standing in the open doorway watching you writhe on my desk, shocked the proper Hermione Potter is such a wanton – "

"Fuck me, Harry," she growled, interrupting him.

He bared his teeth in something that, had he not been so close to coming, would have been a triumphant smile; now, though, he was holding onto his control by the slimmest of margins. He pulled his fingers from her, fighting the intimate clutch of her pussy, and brought them to his mouth. She shivered as she watched him lick his fingers clean.

"Harry," she moaned.

Using both hands, he freed all of his cock and balls from his boxers but didn't remove his clothing. Hermione wrapped one leg around his waist as he shifted her other leg to his shoulder. Gripping her upraised leg with his left hand and his cock with his right, he guided himself to her opening.

"One more time," he demanded.

"Fuck me, damn you." She tightened her leg around his waist in an attempt to draw him inside.

Despite the urge to drive as deeply as he could into her, he entered her slowly. Every gasp, every whimper, Hermione uttered aroused him further. Once fully inside her, he stopped. She snarled at him and clenched tightly around him.

Harry knew she'd told him the name of those muscles before, but he could never remember: he only cared that her motion always blew his mind. He counted backwards from one hundred to stave off his orgasm. When that didn't work, he pictured Snape in boxers.

"Witch," he growled when he had some semblance of control again.

"Bastard," she retorted, clenching around him in a rhythmic manner from the base of his cock to the head and back again.

He had to picture Snape kissing Filch to prevent himself from coming.

Determined to torment her as much as she was tormenting him, he slid his hands down her legs to where they were joined. His right hand slipped underneath her, squeezing her arse. With his left hand, he began to stroke her clit once again.

"Harry!" she gasped.

He wanted her to climax first and was ruthless in his assault on her. He readjusted his left hand to use two fingers over her clit. Her breathing sped, accompanied by a near-continuous soft keening. He knew she was close, but couldn't seem to drive her over the edge.

With that in mind, he began to roll his hips with each thrust. That elicited a whole-body shudder and guttural moan but no climax.

Foregoing his original idea to slide a finger into her arse, he moved her right leg to his shoulder and shifted both hands to brace himself on the desk.

Something feral snapped inside him as he met her gaze, her eyes so darkened with arousal they were nearly black. With little consideration for her comfort, he began to mercilessly drive into her.

Her hands found their way under his robes to his shoulders. His shirt then became the only thing that kept her fingernails from breaking his skin as she tightened her hold on him.

"Yes...yes, please," she panted.

"You've got to come for me, Hermione," Harry ground out from between gritted teeth. The image of Filch doing a striptease wouldn't hold back his impending orgasm much longer.

"The words, Harry," she demanded, locking her ankles behind his neck. He knew the changed angle of his cock inside her nearly hit her G-spot – and _that_ lesson about how to locate it was a great night – but it still didn't force her over the edge.

He bent further, her nipples hard points pressed into his chest, to whisper in her ear, "You're my little whore, Hermione. Look how depraved you are." She seemed to shudder and tremble all at once, clutching him so tightly that he was unable to move. "You're probably hoping someone opens that door to watch you being fucked into my desk. Maybe even to join in."

That finally did it, though whether the fantasy of being spied upon or the fantasy of a threesome was the ultimate trigger, Harry didn't know and didn't care.

She arched upward, body bowed until only the back of her head and her arse were touching the desk. Her inner muscles spasmed, still not allowing him to thrust. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she cried his name.

He loved watching her come undone.

After what felt like hours to him, she began to relax. The moment she eased her grip on his cock, he resumed thrusting, making her gasp with each motion.

It took less than a minute for his orgasm to overcome him. His vision whited-out as he poured himself into her. A part of him noted her either renewed or her second orgasm, and was pleased, but he couldn't focus on that.

He wanted to stay joined to her, but with the last jerk of his hips, his knees turned to water. He slipped out of her and collapsed into his chair, leaving only her heels resting on his shoulders.

She absently performed a cleaning charm, though where she pulled her wand from, he didn't know.

"Harry?" she began softly, pulling her legs down so she could sit up.

He pried one eye open. "Hmm?"

"Don't you fall asleep, you prat." He grinned and closed his eyes. She huffed. "Did I hear the door open at one point?"

Though she liked the idea of being spied on and loved to hear him vocalize it, his Hermione was less adventurous in reality.

"Kingsley opened it at one point," he answered.

"He _what_?"

Harry opened his eyes and straightened in his chair. "I'm sure he'll agree to let me Obliviate him again."

At that she settled, as he knew she would. Kingsley had walked in on them a month ago – then had all but demanded to have the image of Hermione nude but for a leather corset on her knees sucking Harry's cock removed from his memory.

"Since that's the case, I'll meet you at home," she murmured.

He still felt in a post-coital daze – another handy phrase Hermione had taught him – as he watched her slip her robes on. He did up his flies, covering himself, but did nothing to further right his clothing.

"I'll be waiting in the bedroom," she said, kissing him deeply before exiting his office.

He heard her choked laughter as she opened the door, wondering about it until she said in an overly-cheerful voice, "Good evening, Minister."

"Good night, Hermione," Kingsley rumbled. Hermione laughed again.

After the lift rattled upward, Kingsley entered his office.

"Please Obliviate me of that memory," he said, looking torn between disgust and amusement.

"Of course, Minister," Harry replied irreverently, smiling.


End file.
